The Paladin's Ghost 1
by Attalus
Summary: Chapter one in the saga of the redemption of a fallen paladin named Aribeth


Two people stood at the entrance to a cave in Hell. The strange, awkward creature had just opened it, at their request. They were seeking a mysterious woman that had been described to them by many of the shivering spirits around them, for this Hell was not hot but as cold as despair. The dark Elf known as Nathyrra sought her for a simple reason: she and the armored man known as Hardimour the Paladin had been trapped here by a demon, and they were seeking a way out. In such a place, no potential ally could be disregarded, no clue as to a possible way out overlooked. Hardimour, however, had another, stronger motive. The creature that had opened the cave had indicated that the name of the woman imprisoned there was none other than Aribeth de Tylmarande, whom he had served and been betrayed by. His feelings for her had run the gamut from heedless unrequited love to betrayed outrage. But, now, he was overwhelmed by memories of love, sadness, and fear lest he might come too late.

They entered, and found an icy darkness. Hardimour lit a torch, and a brief search revealed, to his horror, Aribeth's form encased in ice. She was clad in black armor, evil and fantastic in appearance, but her head was bare, her face showing no emotion but intense sadness. A living being would have long ago perished, but, he reassured himself, a spirit might yet survive. Quickly, with Nathyrra's help, he gathered debris around the feet of the ice-shrouded form and lit a huge fire with the aid of the curious berries that grew hereabouts. The ice quickly melted, and the form of a woman, with a hint of transparency about her, stepped forth. He stifled a cry of exultation as the woman's expression changed to one of rage. She attacked him with the ghost of a sword. He parried desperately, trying not to hurt her, until he could force her against the icy wall, held there by his good sword, called Cold Iron. Her eyes snapped and glittered in the gloom, reflecting the fire.

Finally, she spoke. "Why did you light that fire?" she hissed.

Surprised, he replied, "You were encased in the ice, Aribeth. I had to melt it to free you."

She was not mollified. "I'm a traitor, will you trust me?" she replied mockingly. "I'm dead, will you bring me back to life? I am hated, will you love me? I've lost my innocence, will you help me find it? Save your breath. There are some things that you can't get back."

He took a step back, removing his sword from the spirit's throat. She continued to glare, but did not attack. "Why did you seek me out, firestarter?" she snarled. "Are you a necromancer looking for a ghost to do your bidding? You have wasted your time. Some of the Dead do not wish to serve the living, even to return to the prime plane. All that I wish is oblivion."

Hardimour sheathed his sword. "I sought you out so that you would not go into oblivion. I believe that you are under some spell, and are not thinking correctly. As for bringing you back to life, sure, I have that power. I have an artifact that would restore you to life, instantly, or have my friend the Gatekeeper do it, more gently and to keep the other in reserve." He removed his helmet. "As for loving you, I already do. Aribeth, do you not know me?"

The spirit stared a moment, bewildered. "H …Hardimour? Is it you? And how did you come to the Hells? Just to get me? How did you find me?"

"I wish that I could say that I came to Cania to find you, Aribeth," he answered gently. "I would have, but no-one that I consulted knew where you had gone or why. When we found you dead in your cell, I tried to have you resurrected, but every holy man or woman that I tried failed. They said your soul was gone and was being held by something more powerful than they. I tore my hair and went mad, I believe, but finally came to my senses and had you buried in a special tomb in my home. Your body is under stasis and will come to us, if you desire it, for that is all that is missing. But I was marooned in Cania by a devil named Mephistopheles. I am going to find him and send him back to the Hells, but I want you by my side."

The fire was now gone from Aribeth's eyes, but she remained wary. "Why should I return to life, my friend?" she asked almost wistfully. "You cannot see them, but I can, the faces of all whose death I was responsible for, especially the children. Tyr has forsaken me. I have become a mere blackguard. Can your God take me, forgive my sins? I heard you talk about Him, but never listened. My sins are so heavy, they overwhelm my soul, and damned me to this place. I do not see why He should."

A wintry smile broke across Hardimour's face. "Yes, my Aribeth, there is forgiveness to be found in my God. Did he not give his only Son to be redeemer for mankind, and I am quite sure, for Elves? You must renounce your sins, though, and work to atone for them. Why my God has given me Paladin powers amid this world of evil godlings and false gods, I do not know, but there it is. But, Aribeth, there is something that I must know before we go any further. Why did you flee from us to the very ones that deceived and destroyed Fenthink? Did you not know that they were evil?"

She hung her head. "I do not know very clearly. The feeling that I was caught in a familiar black trap, that I must go, and kill my enemies, overwhelmed me. Maugrim and Morag were there, that is all. I just thought of them as tools, when I was the tool all along."

The Paladin stood a while in thought, then said, "Familiar? That is a strange word to use. Why do you say that the trap was familiar? What did it remind you of?"

Aribeth struggled with the question, then came startled recognition. "It was just like the rage that I felt when I was young, when orcs overran my village, killing my family and friends. I became violent. I wanted to do anything that I could, at whatever cost, to kill those who had done me wrong."

Hardimour nodded with satisfaction. "I thought that it was a curse. My Aribeth, I do not think so much responsibility lies with you as you think. You were under a spell, and could have done little else. Morag's folk held human chattels for centuries, and were doubtless well-versed in their control."

"So," she replied slowly, "I was spellbound? That makes sense, as I seemed to be in a continuous dark rage."

"Indeed," he replied, "I had some inkling of it." Carefully, he took off his left gauntlet. "Aribeth, do you remember this?" He displayed a small ring on his left little finger.

"My ring!" she seemed to gasp. "You have kept it all these years?"

He looked at it fondly. "Yes, indeed, I would not part with it for anything. It has been my companion for long and long. Do you know, when I was fighting you, or those who fought in your name, sometimes, at night, preparing to rest, I would take it off, then I would be aware of you, feel your hurt and bewilderment. I never felt the hate and rage you speak of. Morag must have been controlling that."

"Yes, yes," she replied slowly. "I remember sometimes at night, the blackness would dissolve, and I could see the stars. I never could, otherwise. I wonder why? But, then, I could feel love touching me and I would be happy, for a bit. Then, it would be gone, and I would sneer at myself. "She-cat! Nobody could love you." Or something like that. So, it was you, all along! I admired you, you know. I remember Maugrim cursing you, after you had the better of us in some skirmish, and Morag saying, 'Never you mind, he will be ours, too, and our little Aribeth shall have a play-mate.' I would feel so strange, being proud of you, my pupil, beating your Mistress, one minute longing for you to fall, like me, so that we could be together, the next thinking, 'He is a better paladin than I ever was.' I think I loved you, even then. Did you know Morag was working on you?"

Hardimour half-smiled. "Indeed," he said, "you are not the only one that she sent dreams to. But my soul is guarded by a better than her. My guardian angel, I suspect. I wish that I knew more about it. Tell me one more thing. The spirits of this place said that you ran to confront Mephistopheles, and after talking with him, you fled to this cave, seeking to become one of the Lost, forever losing your identity. What did he say to you?"

"He said", Aribeth replied with a tremor in her voice, "That I had never loved Fenthink, that my rebellion against Neverwinter was just the evil in me coming out. Tyr had abandoned me, he said, and that I was his forever, a mere pawn to serve in his armies, as he saw fit, because the evil in me would always respond to him. Do..do you think that he was right?"

"No, Aribeth," Hardimour replied gently, "he was trying to manipulate you through your self-doubts. He could see the curse, none better, I am sure, and probably improved on it. But, the curse you are under, I can remove. Touch my sword." She put a wavering hand on the hilt, shrinking a bit, and he put his right hand on her forehead. It felt cold, but solid, rather to his surprise. "In the name of the only God, His only son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, I bid this curse be gone and its victim be released, unharmed." A great shock hit them both, and Aribeth wavered, as a smoke in a strong breeze, then it was over and she solidified again.

She looked around, confused, "Hardimour," she said, finally, her eyes shining. "It is you. I thought you might be some phantom sent to me by Mephistopheles. He did that, you know, and then would dissolve you , saying I was his to keep and that you did not even remember me. It is he that marooned you here, is it not?"

"Indeed, it was he." Hardimour answered with a grim look. "And, I swear, he will rue the day that he tried to use me as a cat's paw. Now, you are ready. Repeat after me: I, Aribeth de Tylmarande, do now renounce and abjure evil. I will, to the end of my days, serve only good, and dedicate my life as a Paladin of Tyr. Say it, my angel, and spite the devils."

Her face took on the lofty expression that he knew so well, and she repeated the oath; but, at the last minute, she altered it to, "...dedicate my life as a Paladin of the God that Hardimour worships." The universe seemed to whirl around them, and a light that illuminated but never burned suffused her.

Hardimour beamed. "I do not know if it was the Holy Ghost that put that into your head, my dear, but it was well-done. I begin to see some hope in this journey of ours. But, will you join me, now, and return to my haven? I long to see you clothed again in flesh, but I would not do so, here, in the cold, and you so poorly dressed."

"Indeed, I will join you," she said with a toss of her head and a quick smile. Nathyrra, who had been patiently waiting warming herself in the fire, now gave them both a quick glare. They both fell in behind him as they trudged back to the portal that led to Gatehouse. He quickly entered the portal, and there they were, the tall, cowled being known as the Gatekeeper eyeing them.

"Gatekeeper, my friend," Hardimour said jovially, "I have come across another of my companions. Would you bring her back, again, as you did Nathyrra?"

"As you will, Sojourner, " the Gatekeeper replied indifferently, and suddenly, Aribeth was whole again. Her cheeks flushed, her bosom gave a heave, and a pulse could be seen in her throat. She was not dressed in the ghostly, bizarre armor that she was wearing, though, but in a silken white cloak. Jewels glinted at her wrists, neck and fingers. A tiara was in her fantastically arrayed hair, with a magnificent diamond in the center.

"I live!" she exulted. "Blood, bone, and sinew, by all that is holy!" She gloated over her hands, fingering an old scar. Then she saw the rings and bracelets, her nails painted with a faintly pink-tinted varnish. She wonderingly pressed down on her thumbnail, seeing the deeper pink flush beneath pale and then return. "But what is this that I wear?" She looked at her reflection in the mirror-like polished-stone walls. She gave Hardimour a searching look, with some dawning mischief. "Was this your doing, Sir Knight?"

It was Hardimour's turn to blush, an uncommon thing for him. "Yes, it was," he admitted. "I told you that I had keeping of your body. Before I interred it, I had it clad in what you see, here. I .. I did not want you to lay in the cold stone in that horrid armor, so I had this


End file.
